Page 112 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
Doubtless the king would wish for her to bathe him again—but Harald was resolved to refuse such a request.
From now on, his wife would bathe none but him.
But would she wish to bathe him again—or even let him touch her? When he’d taken her in his arms in the forest, her eyes had filled with terror. She must not endure that again—she had her unborn child to consider.
Not just her child—hischild also.
Was he fit to bear a father’s responsibility? Ought he to be trusted with the safety and wellbeing of another? How could he teach his child the difference between right and wrong, when he’d wronged his wife at every turn, and driven her to the point where she feared his touch?
Never again did he want to hear her screams. He craved her—body and soul, but even though she had declared her love for him, she feared him still.
The physical torture he could withstand, but only now did he realize the subtler form of punishment, which he must endure.
He could never touch his wife again.
* * *
“My Lady, we have arrived.”
Eloise sat up, hampered by her swollen belly. The movement woke the child sleeping beside her. The drape in the litter drew back to reveal Wulfstan’s scarred face. Violette whimpered in fear.
“Hush, child, he means us no harm.”
“But his face!”
“He bears the scars of battle,” Eloise said. “A fair face does not necessarily mean a good character. Wulfstan’s scars mark his bravery, and he wears them with pride.”
Wulfstan helped her out of the litter. Her body flinched involuntarily at his touch—memories of Beauvisage still lingered.
“Forgive me,” Wulfstan said.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she replied. “I must learn to conquer my demons.”
He loosened his hold, sympathy in his eyes. The Saxon warrior who she’d once thought uncouth and barbaric, now treated her with tenderness and gallantry as he led her toward the main doors.
Why wasn’t Harald there to greet her?
“Where’s my husband?”
“He’s not at home,” came the reply. “His orders were that I take you directly to your chamber to rest.”
Did he not want to see her—or perhaps he was ashamed of Violette?
What had William told her in London—the day she’d pleaded for her husband’s life? He’d said that Harald had been with a whore the night before his arrest. Was he with her now? Why did he insist she return to Wildstorm if only to ignore her?
They had come full circle. Once more she was entering his home as the unwanted wife. Perhaps Harald was merely obeying William’s orders. Had he professed to love her only as a means to ensure she came willing?
The servants in the building greeted her with courtesy, though they eyes Violette with curiosity. Eloise clutched her daughter’s hand, and held her head high as she followed Wulfstan to her chamber.
Two familiar figures awaited her by the door—her maidservant, and a young boy.
“Lady Eloise!” The boy limped toward her and, she opened her arms to receive him. His face showed nothing but joy—the terror which had clouded his eyes at Exeter had disappeared.
Jeanette gestured to Violette. “Come here, little one.” At a nod from Eloise, the little girl approached the old woman who drew her into an embrace.
Alfred grew silent in Eloise’s arms. Words were not needed to convey their feelings. The ordeal they’d shared had only served strengthen the bond between them.
At length, she placed a light kiss on his forehead, then held him at arm’s length.
